


Concocting an Apology

by Plechka



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Drinking & Talking, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Friends to Best Friends, and don't take drinks from John Garrett, but be patient, drink responsibly, eventually, kids don't try this at home, plenty of drinking, these two are taking their sweet ass time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plechka/pseuds/Plechka
Summary: The origin and evolution through the years of the special way in which Phil and Melinda apologize to each other and move forward together. It involves a staggering amount of alcohol, emotional vulnerability, and a night for one of them to remember and one of them to forget.





	1. Chapter 1

Alone in his room, as the floor moved beneath his feet and his head began to swim, Phil formed a sincere apology in his mind and began silently listing all his offenses. But as if it often happened, his train of thought derailed and he found himself contemplating their relationship and its eccentricities. They didn’t need words to communicate and they had a penchant for flirting in inappropriate situations. They’d pretended to be married to each other more times than he could remember and locked in a room together too many times to count. But _this_ was probably the strangest thing they shared. As his consciousness slipped, Phil tried to remember how they came to find forgiveness in such an unorthodox way.

 

* * *

 

Everyone from Operations was jealous of him, the cadet who had aced every class and who was now _dominating_ Melinda May’s undercover workshop. Whoever topped this particular class so close to graduation would be recommended for twice as many missions as other Level One agents. May could not _believe_ that this smiling little dork was going to beat her--she was at the top of her Operations class and he was just a Communications dummy; a suit. Her eyes rolled far into the back of her head every time the instructor praised Phil Coulson’s tactics and skills. She had to do something. Near the end of the semester and with only one mission to go, Coulson was poised to take the highest grade in the workshop. May, however, had different plans. After a carefully crafted prank that would have made her undercover ops instructor proud, she achieved the impossible: Phil Coulson failed.

 

That evening, as she downed cheap beers in celebration at the local bar, Coulson came to her table. Dressed in his street clothes, he looked every bit the boy scout she thought he was. May was about to roll her eyes when she noticed that his lips were pulled into a tight line, his eyes were narrowed, and his jaw was set. Stopping directly in front of her and regarding her with deadly calm he seethed, “Congratulations on getting the undercover recommendation. I’m sure you _deserved that_.” Those last two words came out through clenched teeth. The look Coulson shot at her as he walked away gave her pause. She had never seen Coulson with anything but a good-natured smile on his face, and the seething anger she saw on his features made her start to regret her prank.

 

May didn’t think there was much of a practical difference between first and second place in the workshop, besides, Coulson was already at the top of his class in Communications and would likely stay there until graduation. With anyone else she would have shrugged it off--plenty of people got upset with her because of her pranks--but for some reason incurring the wrath of this boyish cadet made her uncomfortable. After that encounter at the bar, she noticed that Coulson would make a big point of avoiding her on campus and ignoring her when they were in the same room. Before this, she was used to ignoring _him_. Having plenty of friends at Operations, May didn’t need to talk to Communications cadets very often. Specialists were her people. And she had always found Coulson’s perpetual smile unnerving.

 

Soon, most of his fellow Communications cadets were also ignoring her. And even some of the Science and Technology cadets who heard about the prank and thought it was in poor taste to mess with someone’s grades. At first, this backlash didn’t affect her. But then she started to notice the strangers staring at her as she walked to class, the cadets moving to other tables when she sat near them at the cafeteria. In mixed classes, less people wanted to partner with her. May realized in horror that these people would become her colleagues and coworkers; her life may depend on them at some point.

 

May needed to apologize and make things right with Coulson if she wanted to succeed as a SHIELD agent; but the man would not _look_ at her, let alone let her get close enough to apologize. Upon seeing her approach, he would either leave the room, or pretend she didn’t exist. He had a way of looking through her that made her feel insignificant. Had she not been so annoyed, she would have been quite impressed with him for having such an effective mean streak. After her fifth failed attempt to talk to him, she’d approached his friends, helplessly trying to convey her apology as they ignored her every word. Soon, she was becoming a little desperate. Never before had she been ostracized like this and she didn’t like it one bit.

 

Her next plan made her spend countless hours writing brief apology notes that she would slide under his door at night, only to find those unopened notes back in her own dorm the next morning. No one was doing anything overtly hostile to her but she was getting tired of this drama. Melinda May did not like being ignored. Always a high achiever, May was usually noticed early and often by everyone who came in contact with her. Secretly, she loved the attention, and with her pranks, she kept it trained on her. At the Academy, she enjoyed the respect and admiration of her peers--she even used it to her advantage when dealing with star-struck cadets who could help her get something she wanted. Infamy she could take, but being ignored hit a nerve.

 

More than anything, she was genuinely confused about why he would be so upset about such a _small_ grade difference. May was determined to find out. At her hand-to-hand class, she partnered with Coulson’s roommate, Garrett, and after slamming him against the mats a few times and threatening to _accidentally_ break his arm, he agreed to talk. She tried not to think about how good it felt to beat him up. After class, he explained that Coulson had been en route to become the first Communications cadet ever to top every class--including electives--when she played her little prank. He would have made Academy history. _Shit._ The day she broke the Academy record for most successive one-on-one combat wins was one of her proudest moments and she would have literally _killed_ anyone who had dared sabotage her. Now, even the prospect of more missions as a Level One agent left a bitter taste in her mouth. _How did I ever think this was a good idea?_ She thought despondently. Garrett refused to talk to Coulson or help her apologize in any way. May was on her own.

 

The opportunity to apologize came suddenly and took an unexpected form. In hopes of being able to approach Coulson, May decided to attend the Communications end of year bash. Sighing, she steeled herself for the night ahead--she had never been a fan of parties and going to one full of hostile cadets was about the last thing she wanted to do. Donning her best jeans and a black top, she made her way across campus to the ballroom, her firm steps exuding the confidence she was lacking. Stepping inside, she was immediately enveloped by the loud music and stale air. Scattered through the room were relaxed cadets drinking cheap alcohol and dancing enthusiastically. Judging by the looks she got as she entered, Melinda May was not welcome. Still, one the people organizing the party handed her a drink and she even talked to some of the Communications cadets that she knew while looking for her target.

 

As she roamed the ballroom, Garrett approached her with a sardonic smile on his face. May’s fists clenched and she was immediately on guard. He was carrying a big glass of a muddy, foul-smelling drink, which he pushed in her direction trying to hand it to her. Garrett was known for his horrendous mixology skills and his terrible cocktails were a stuff of legend at the Academy. No one was stupid enough to come close to anything he concocted and May was no exception. She waved Garrett away with a roll of her eyes and saw him go to another cadet to offer him the drink with the same smile.

 

It was then that she saw Coulson standing near a wall surrounded by other cadets. They were staring at him in rapt attention as he spoke, gesticulating enthusiastically. He looked good in jeans and a blue button up shirt, but she would die before saying that out loud. If he saw her or even knew of her presence, he didn’t betray that knowledge. He briefly looked in the direction of Garrett trying to offer someone else the concoction and rolled his eyes while continuing his story. That’s when the idea hit her like a freight train at full speed. It was stupid, careless and potentially dangerous, but she had to do _something_. Taking resolute steps toward Garrett, she stood next to him until she saw Coulson look in their direction again. Before he could look away, May took the glass from Garrett’s hand--much to the cadet’s surprise--and raised it towards Coulson in a toast while locking eyes with him.

 

He stopped talking and flashed her an incredulous look, raising one eyebrow and pointing a finger at her. That was all the encouragement she needed as she raised the glass to her lips and downed the disgusting liquid in one long gulp, shocking everyone around her. _God, it’s even worse than I imagined_. She thought she could taste rum, red wine and some sort of mint liqueur before she tried to shut down her taste buds and forget the experience. The conflicting flavors were making her lips quiver and her tongue tingle. A hush fell over the party, with more and more cadets realizing what she had done. All eyes were on her as she fought to keep the revolting drink down. Her own eyes were still locked on Coulson’s, and when she felt like she could open her mouth safely again, she mouthed “I’m sorry” to him. He nodded and gave her a big smile before leaving his friends and walking toward her, the crowd parting to let him through. At the sight of that smile, her heart skipped a beat.

 

“How was it?” He asked her with a cocky grin once he reached her side.

 

“It was alright,” was her only response as she shrugged her shoulders. That earned her a big laugh from Coulson. She briefly thought that he was kind of cute. But that was probably the shock of drinking so much alcohol so fast on an empty stomach. She could normally handle her liquor well--definitely better than her size would suggest--but this time she began to feel the effects of the cocktail almost immediately. Coulson noticed her glassy eyes and unsteady stance and he gave her a concerned look. “I’m ok. Don’t look at me like that. It’s makin' my head hurt.” She slurred.

 

When she realized just how strong that repulsive drink was, May had a brief moment of panic. Although she drank alcohol often, she made it her policy not to consume enough to lose control, especially when she was in the company of others. She told anyone who asked that she was trying to avoid hangovers, but in reality she was protecting her inhibitions, her internal walls. As she stood uncertainly in front of Coulson, she could feel her guard lowering and she began to worry about what she would say or do while under the influence. She needed to get out of there.  

 

Having a rough idea of what was in Garrett’s cocktail, Coulson became very worried. There was a lot of alcohol in that 20 ounce glass, some of it 100 proof whiskey and 150 proof rum--about a dozen shots worth of alcohol. _In one gulp._ He had not seen May eat a single thing since she walked into the party. Not that he was keeping tabs on her. _Of course not._ He was just very observant and she was easy to spot anywhere she went. Because she was _gorgeous._ Knowing that she only drank the “concoction” as an apology to him, Coulson decided to take May back to her room and keep an eye on her, lest she get alcohol poisoning or need medical attention during the night. She was surprisingly receptive to him escorting her to her room, hanging from his shoulder and chatting with him the whole way.

 

Coulson could not believe what was happening. Melinda May, the Operations rock star who had ignored him for four years was hugging him tightly and openly flirting with him. Granted, she was intoxicated. But she had drank that disgusting cocktail for _him_. His mind was a whirlwind, confusing thoughts flying around and vying for his attention. This situation was so strange and unexpected that he let his defenses down, allowing her to get impossibly close to him. In fact, in that moment he could feel her hot breath in his ear as she whispered the directions to her dorm room while one of her palms rubbed circles over his chest. He knew it was the alcohol, but he still had a hard time thinking straight.   

 

When he first realized that his undercover exam had been compromised, he was profoundly disappointed in himself. After his mother’s death, Phil Coulson was completely alone in the world; SHIELD was all that he had. So he applied himself and was determined to do his best in every class, every workshop, every exam, every exercise. There was nothing else for him. He was particularly fond of undercover operations because he was able to pretend he was someone else, someone less broken. So to hear that his mission had failed so spectacularly was a shock. It didn’t take him long to figure out what happened, and he was livid when he did.

 

Although he only told Garrett about May’s interference, the story spread through the Academy like wildfire. Every time he saw her around campus, his face flushed, his heart raced, and he felt his muscles tighten in anger. To contain his fury, he decided to stay away from May until he could calm down; Coulson didn’t hold grudges but he needed time to stew. At the beginning she was so cavalier about the whole thing, like it didn’t matter to her that she ruined something that he spent four years working toward. The honor of acing every class in the Academy should have gone to _him_ , instead of an unnamed future cadet. He didn’t expect anyone else to follow his example of ignoring her and he felt a little bad about her ostracization--but every time he saw her, he still felt a wave of anger rising in his chest.

 

His anger was still there, barely hidden by his genuine concern for her wellbeing, but he was mostly perplexed by the whole situation. Coulson struggled to come to terms with these conflicting feelings as they made their way across campus, all the while he tried to ignore her straying hands and whispered words. When they got to her room, it was apparent that she wanted to move beyond just flirting as she began to undress while clumsily attempting to seduce him. His heart skipped a beat, but Coulson was not the type to have drunken one-night stands, especially when there was this much alcohol involved. Plus, he was still angry at her. Before she could get her shirt over her head, Coulson grabbed her arms to stop her, tugging the garment back in place while looking away from the patch of skin she had revealed. He was there to make sure she was okay, not to sleep with her. Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, but he ignored that as he helped her onto the bed, gently swatting at her hands as she tried to grope him. _Repeatedly._ He then helped her out of her shoes and pulled a blanket over her, telling her to stay put while he went to get her some water. Noticing some crackers sitting on top of her dresser, he started feeding her a handful every few minutes to get some food into her. His anger was beginning to melt away.

 

Coulson knew that May was quiet and he was very amused with how chatty she was while drunk. He even engaged her in conversation to pass the time--all while checking for any signs she may need medical attention. He also made sure she drank plenty of water and ate more crackers. They spent hours pleasantly talking about anything and everything, no walls between them. He felt like he was starting to know the real Melinda May and he found her endearing. It had also been a long time since he had engaged in an honest conversation with someone and, although he made sure to avoid private subjects, he enjoyed not wearing a mask with her.

 

As the night was dying, May became serious and looked at him intently. “I’m sooo sorry about that prank,” she said, looking genuinely distraught. “I didn’t know about the.. the... the honor thing. That wasss mean o’me. I wishhh I could take it back.” She reached out for his hand and this time he didn’t swat her hand away. He found her touch very comforting.

 

“It’s ok. I will admit I was very upset about it. It may sound stupid, but all I wanted was to make my mom proud,” he said, looking off into space for a few seconds as he suppressed the pain that flooded his chest. “But it took a lot of courage to down Garrett’s concoction the way you did, in front of _everyone_. I can’t really be mad at you anymore after you risked your life like that,” he added with a big smile and gave her hand a light squeeze. Despite himself, he found her adorable in her current state. And he was having trouble staying angry at her.

 

She smiled back at him and he realized just how beautiful her smile was. “I’m glad. I didn’t know... how... to reach you,” her words slowly sputtering out as sleep started to overtake her.

 

Coulson stayed watching over her until morning, telling himself he was just concerned about her health. This had nothing to do with how beautiful she was or how much he enjoyed talking to her. He was just being a gentleman, like his mother taught him to be. At the thought of his mother, his chest tightened; he had wanted to dedicate the Academy honors to her memory. A long sigh escaped his lips.  

 

When she woke to find him dozing on her chair, a smile found its way to the corners of her mouth. She felt horrible, her mouth tasted like death, and her memories from the last few hours were hazy. But she remembered being forgiven and Coulson taking care of her all night. As she watched him sleeping peacefully in front of her, she again thought that he was kind of cute, only this time she couldn’t blame the alcohol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time Coulson apologizes

Months after their graduation, May and Coulson were paired together on a mission in Sausalito, California. They hadn’t really talked since the night of the Communications party, but they were at ease with each other and were happy to work together--each knowing the other to be capable and dependable. What should have been a simple undercover retrieval operation turned quickly into chaos. To make matters worse, the lack of an extraction plan resulted in them being separated, with Coulson following the target and May trying to distract the target’s goons. By the time he had caught up with the target, formulated another plan, and successfully completed the mission, May had been missing for a couple of hours.

 

Panic spread through his chest and his eyes lost focus for a few seconds. Going back to the restaurant where the target had been eating, Coulson started walking around looking for clues to May’s location. He combed the side streets looking for (but dreading to find) blood trails. Eventually, he made it to the docks and as he looked in and around some empty boats, he noticed her small figure holding on to a pillar that was partially hidden under the pier. Immediately and without further thought, he jumped in the water and swam to her. Exhausted, May did not notice him swimming toward her. A smile briefly flashed on her face, but it was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain.

 

Coulson was running on adrenaline alone as he began to pull her the 30 or so yards toward a nearby ladder, his muscles screaming at the effort. Had he not been such a strong swimmer, he was sure that they’d have both drowned under their combined weight; but years of competitive swimming as well as numerous summers spent as a lifeguard helped him get her to the bottom of the metal ladder. May was shivering violently and her muscles were seizing, so he knew that she would not be able to climb on her own. Turning away from her and toward the ladder, he guided her to wrap her arms around his shoulders and tugged at her knees to hook her feet in front of his abdomen. Cold and exhausted as she was, May still managed to direct her remaining strength to holding onto him. Coulson closed his eyes and took a deep breath before positioning his hands on the rung slightly above his head and his feet two rungs below in the water. As he exhaled, he forced his muscles to move upward. Compared to this, swimming with May toward the ladder had been a piece of cake.

 

Arms and legs began to shake intensely, his body straining to pull his weight, May’s weight, and their waterlogged clothing up the ladder. Just breaking the water line felt like an impossible feat, but as he felt May’s grip weakening, his adrenaline kicked in again and propelled them both upward. By the time they reached the top, he only had enough strength left to fall face-first into the dock with May still on his back.     

 

They lay there, a puddle of salt water growing around them, both panting and shivering. “I am so sorry!” were the first words that he was able to choke out after regaining his breath.

 

Coulson knew he followed protocol by staying with the target when the mission went south, but he still felt like he could have done _something_ to prevent her fate. Maybe he should have drawn the goons away instead of May, or finished the mission earlier to fish her out sooner, or started his search for her at the docks instead of the side streets. These thoughts plagued his mind while he waited outside her hospital room. She was being treated for hypothermia, but the doctors said she didn’t suffer permanent tissue damage. Coulson was relieved, but still felt like he had failed her.

 

Coulson apologized. And apologized. No matter how many times she told him that it was not his fault that she spent five hours in the water, Coulson would not stop apologizing. He sent her multiple cards. A few bouquets of flowers showed up at the hospital, her office, and her apartment. May refused to forgive him, saying there was nothing to forgive. Guilt continued to gnaw at him. One night, a couple of weeks after the mission, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He made a phone call, went to a nearby store, and got ready to go see her. As he stood uncertainly outside her door, he began to question his idea but before he could turn away, she opened her door and found him holding a large flask. On the drive over to her apartment he thought that visiting a fellow agent’s home wasn’t particularly strange. Now, he wasn’t so sure. As she stood with her arms protectively crossed over her chest, he realized that it was almost midnight and that he had never visited her before. This was going to be awkward.

 

As she let him in, May raised an eyebrow at him in question and he simply acknowledged, “This is the best way to apologize,” and he gave her a timid smile. “I asked Garrett for the recipe and, after spending a small fortune at a liquor store, here it is. The _concoction_ ,” he beamed as he raised the flask and handed it to her for inspection.

 

After uncapping it, the disgusting and familiar stench that wafted up from the flask brought back memories of the Communications party and her extreme apology. Wrinkling her nose, she handed it back to him, “Yep, that’s the one. I don’t think I’ve gotten the taste truly out of my mouth even after all these months.” It was apparent that she never expected to see or smell that revolting drink again, much less under these circumstances. Her curiosity was piqued.

 

Phil Coulson could handle his liquor. That was a skill he developed early, as he spent many a long winter night drinking with his friends in the small town he grew up in. Now when he drank, he aimed for that point, just after five or six beers, where one’s inhibitions were lowered without the accompanying loss of dignity that came with subsequent drinks. As a rule, Phil enjoyed the pleasant, numbing buzz of alcohol and not the almost out-of-body experience of being severely intoxicated. He prided himself in his self-control. Now, as he stood on May’s apartment, he was painfully aware of exactly how much of that control he was surrendering to her.  

 

“Well, I haven’t eaten anything in the last few hours so it should hit me pretty quickly like it did for you.” He paused and looked around nervously. “Umm, I can arrange for a cab to take me home after I drink it so you don’t have to deal with the consequences,” he added uncertainly. Until then, he hadn’t thought about what he would do after drinking the concoction. Standing in her apartment, he realized that his plan might force her to look after him like he did for her all those nights ago.

 

“Nope, you are staying here. This is a two part apology system,” she said, holding as many fingers up. “Part one is drinking the vile stuff and part two is making an ass of yourself while the alcohol takes the wheel,” she insisted with a twinkle in her eye.  

 

“Okay. Let’s do this,” he fretted. It was his idea, but that still didn’t mean that he was particularly excited to do it. He was counting on holding his liquor better than May and perhaps being able to maintain some semblance of dignity throughout this ordeal. Although, like she pointed out, this worked as an apology _because_ it was a repudiation of one’s better judgment. _Oh, well. Here it goes!_

 

Taking the flask, he tipped it all the way back, letting the foul liquid slide over his tongue and almost directly into his throat. It took less than a minute to drain the whole flask, but he spent the next five trying to keep it down. _This is truly disgusting._ He recognized the distinct taste of the coconut liqueur clashing with the gin and sake he had to add to this godforsaken drink. Just like with May a few months earlier, he began to feel the effects of the concoction almost immediately. He sat down on the nearest couch and then frowned, “I am sorry, May. I didn’t even...even.. ask you if I could sit down,” he moaned as he tried to stand again, but that turned out to be a terrible idea as the room started spinning and he lost his footing, his butt once more sitting firmly on the couch.

 

May smiled and rolled her eyes. “God, you’re a polite drunk! I should have known. I was hoping you’d be a complete asshole so I could hate you a little,” she quipped while plopping on the couch next to him, eyeing him curiously. May was hoping to see him embarrass himself at least a little bit to counterbalance her attempted advances that night. Although she liked to pretend that was an alcohol-induced dream that never happened, she knew it probably did. And she was infinitely grateful to him for not mentioning it.

 

His gaze was darting all over the room, his hands rubbing nervously over his knees. Coulson was clearly uncomfortable. “You okay, Coulson?”

 

“I didn’t think your apartment would look like this. There’s… there’s _a lot_ of color and flower patterns. I was expecting to see more black and maybe some collectible weapons.” He paused and quickly added, “Not that I’ve thought about what your apartment would look like! Or what you do here!” He started becoming more and more flustered, his cheeks attaining a lobster-red hue that made the blue of his eyes stand out delightfully. She found him adorable, but she wasn’t about to let him live this down.

 

“Oh, is that so? Have you been having inappropriate thoughts about me, Coulson?” She asked suggestively, while leaning toward him on the couch, making sure he got a glimpse down the v-neck shirt she was wearing.

 

“No! Of-of course not!” His voice cracking as he quickly looked away from her cleavage. “Y-you’re just a competent... and... dependable agent to me. _Nothing_ else!” He tried to recover, while sliding as far away from her as he could on the couch.

 

“What? So you think I am ugly then? Is that it?” She asked in a mock-hurt voice, barely containing her mischievous smile. Oh, she was already enjoying this.

 

After sputtering for what seemed like forever, Coulson finally was able to croak out, “NO! You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen! But you are _waaaaaaaaaaay_ out of my league, so I try not to think about you. _Much_.” And now it was _her_ turn to be embarrassed. To stop the blush creeping over her chest and face, she stood up and went to her kitchen to get him some water and a few crackers. She couldn’t help smiling when she remembered what he did for her when she was in his shoes. _He’s too sweet to be a spy_ , she thought, bemused. And then, _does he really think about me?_

 

As the alcohol settled in his system, he became more and more comfortable with her. Although Coulson lost his eloquence while drunk, he was still an adept conversationalist and he even managed to make her laugh with a few of his terrible jokes. They talked about everything from his favorite comic books to her strange childhood. It felt more like a conversation between good friends than an apology between coworkers. She hadn’t talked for that long with anyone before, and had definitely never revealed this much about herself in one sitting--at least while sober. It seemed like Coulson was breaking through her walls, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

 

Eventually, he started to fall asleep and as he slid sideways on the couch, May caught him and cradled his head on her lap. She did it without thinking. He sighed happily as she started running her hands through his hair. _Did he just purr?_ She truly had no idea what possessed her do that. _He does look cute when he sleeps_ , she couldn’t help but think. As he settled more comfortably on her legs, May thought that she should get up and let him sleep alone. _Just a little bit longer…_

 

When he woke up the next morning with his head on May’s lap and a blanket loosely draped over him, Coulson allowed himself a small smile and felt content. The feeling was short lived as he was soon assaulted by a pounding headache, a revolting taste in his mouth, and a stabbing pain in his eyes as he adjusted to the daylight streaming through the windows. With some difficulty, he managed to get up without waking May and looked around her kitchen for some basic ingredients.

 

By the time she woke up, 30 minutes later, her apartment was filled with the delicious smell of pancakes. All was well and all was forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to Studiocapsicum for being an A-MAZING beta to this story. And Thanks to aw-hawkeye-no for the art for this story! 
> 
> Let me know if you like it! I'll be posting the rest of it this week, one chapter each day :) 
> 
> Hope everyone is enjoying the Bang!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's not always someone to apologize to.

As she slid the key in the lock, all she could think about was that she would never see him again. Never see his sweet smile again. Never hear his singsongy voice. Never eat his delicious food again. _No, no, no, no._

 

Earlier that day, Fury had come to bring her his personal effects; he knew how close they were. He found her so wrecked in her cube that he ordered her to take a few weeks off--effective immediately. Driving straight to his place, she let herself in with her key. Phil’s townhouse looked just like she remembered it. She was struggling to find something, _anything_ denoting the fact that its occupant would never come back; but it was unchanged. Immaculate, with a stylish old-fashion decorating style that perfectly complimented the home’s Queen Anne architecture. She could easily recall how excited he was when he bought the crumbling structure for next to nothing, talking about how beautiful it would look after it was renovated. She scoffed when he shared his vision. He poured countless hours into that house, doing what he could by hand and contracting out the rest. In a little over two years, it looked just as beautiful as he predicted, but Phil always could see the potential in everything and everyone; that was one of his greatest gifts.

 

Heading into his bedroom, she changed into one of his old Academy t-shirts and a pair of Captain America boxers she had given him the previous Christmas. Melinda was almost overwhelmed by his smell. She went into the well-stocked kitchen and started pulling bottles from his liquor cabinet and arranging them on the counter. Thirteen bottles in all. Using a stool to reach into the highest shelf in one of his cabinets, she grabbed an ornate beer mug. “Oh, the places you’ll go!” was etched into the metal handle, along with his name and the year he graduated from high school. Phil saved this mug for special events, using it to drink everything from wine to champagne, as the occasion demanded. It was one of the last presents he received from his mother.

 

To Melinda, it felt appropriate to drink the concoction from that special beer mug. He had done the same in front of her numerous times over the years they had known each other and had even let her drink from it herself. But all the other liquid apologies they had exchanged as partners and friends paled in comparison to the one she was about to drink. This wasn’t a mission mistake or a faux pas in their friendship. She failed him and now he was _dead_. Phil Coulson would never again see her drink the concoction, talk to her drunken self all night, or be there to make her pancakes the next morning. He was dead and there was nothing she could do to apologize for leaving him alone and unprotected.

 

As her memories walked her through their partnership, she began to see just how much she would miss him. It had been over two decades since that first apology and Melinda could vividly remember every apology that followed. A couple of times, they made the foul toast after doing something that jeopardized their friendship, like keeping secrets that gnawed at their mutual trust. But they mostly drank the concoction after messing up during a mission--they both had very high standards for themselves and felt like they got too much leeway from their superiors for their shortcomings. Now, after all these years she realized that they were both terrified that their mistakes would result in the other’s death. Like hers just had. _I killed him!_ The thought had haunted her and the image of his lifeless body had become a waking nightmare since she got the call two days before. Had she been there with him she would have kept him safe, just like she had before Bahrain. And he had asked for her help with the Avengers initiative. No, he had _begged_ for her help, promising to keep her away from combat ops and offering her work on planning and strategy with him. Oh, but she was too busy wallowing in self-pity to help her oldest and dearest friend. The man she _loved_.

 

Melinda took out a jigger from one of his drawers and began systematically measuring the different liquids that went into the concoction, working from memory. After the first two times, the tradition grew to include them preparing the disgusting cocktail together, the one receiving the apology usually emphasizing each disparate ingredient and teasing about how it would taste in the overall revolting mix. The one apologizing would silently prepare for what was to come. She said each ingredient out loud and commented on the foulness of the concoction, just as she imagined Phil would have. The tears were flowing freely from her reddened eyes, her voice was coming out ragged and broken, and her hands were shaking violently as she poured liquids into the mug.

 

Melinda drank the beverage quickly, settling on his couch to ride out the effects of the alcohol. There was no one to talk to, no one to take care of her, no one to wake up to. With that thought plaguing her tortured mind, she fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to studiocapsicum for being a wonderful beta. 
> 
> Short chapter, but let me know what you think of today's apology. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! I'm thankful for this fandom and the imminent return of AOS :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when they both need to apologize?

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because I feel like I have more to apologize for than you,” asked Coulson while looking at the engraved mug he held in his clasped hands.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. We both need to do this,” May answered resolutely as she reached for another mug.

 

It was a quiet night and they were sitting side by side on the couch in Coulson’s office, avoiding eye contact. It was new ground for both of them, the first time they would both drink the concoction at the same time. The tension in the air was thick, almost oppressive. Both dreaded what could happen once they began their mutual apology. Would they remember anything that happened? What would happen once they were both inebriated and vulnerable? Would this help solve their trust issues or make them worse? There were so many unanswered questions swirling through their minds that they didn’t speak for a while. Despite their doubts, they both agreed that they needed to do _something_ to salvage their friendship and this was one of their oldest traditions.

 

“I’ll go first,” she murmured. “I am truly sorry, Phil.” As she lifted the mug to her lips, she thought about everything that she was apologizing for. Starting with letting him die, failing to protect him. And what came next. The day after Phil’s funeral, Nick Fury visited her in her administration cube once again, this time, he brought welcome news along with an unwelcome task. This mission--to lie to her best friend and secretly monitor and report on his every move--pained her more than she thought was possible. Upon accepting Fury’s orders, she immediately felt like she owed Phil an apology for what she was about to do. And every time she infringed on the privacy of his room or his office, she felt more and more like sinking to her knees to beg for his forgiveness.

 

Not that she wouldn’t do it again if given the chance. May saw first-hand the havoc that the truth wreaked on Phil’s mind and soul, and she understood the importance of keeping it hidden from him. But the magnitude of the deception nonetheless weighed heavily on her conscience. There was something heart wrenching about watching your best friend being consumed with doubt and fear, knowing the cause of his pain, but doing nothing. No, she did _something_. She sent detailed reports to Fury about things that Phil would entrust no one with. Scenes no one was supposed to see. His breakdowns, his insecurities. The way he touched the scar on his chest while he lay awake at night. How he’d bite his pillow to keep himself from screaming in frustration. The dejected look on his face as he held a picture of Audrey in his shaking hands.

 

Melinda knew about Phil’s tendency to lash out when cornered, but she was still hurt by his reaction when he learned of her involvement in the lie. His words, carefully aimed to inflict the most damage, nearly broke her already battered heart; but she accepted them as her punishment for putting the trust they built over decades in jeopardy with her deception. His anger was the price she would gladly pay to keep him safe.

 

May closed her eyes, inhaled deeply through her mouth, and proceeded to down the disgusting cocktail in one gulp. Her stomach protested almost instantly, but she kept swallowing until the mug was empty. She was finally able to look at Phil in the eyes. His eyes were trained on his own drink, a frown contorted his generally relaxed features, his jaw was set, and his fingers clenched the mug tightly.

 

Phil could not believe that he had treated May that way, that he had been so hurtful. He shot her with an ICER! And he even had the audacity to doubt her loyalty to SHIELD. To _him._ But she had done what was necessary to protect his sanity and he owed her so much for her efforts. Breaking her self-imposed exile to Administration and without regard for her own traumas, May had come aboard the Bus to keep him safe. His debt of gratitude was growing every minute that she spent by his side and he didn’t think he could ever repay her.

But, it wasn’t the breach of trust that set him off, drove him to attack. Her words did that. _You mean a lot to me. A lot._ Just as his words were calculated to inflict pain, he knew hers were meant to manipulate him. His infatuation with Melinda May had started early in their partnership and it had blossomed into love sometime after that. Phil was perfectly content just being her friend and partner, understanding that she deserved much better than a weak and damaged old SHIELD agent. As observant as she was, he was sure that May knew about his feelings but chose to ignore them. That was probably for the best. That is why hearing her say those words enraged him so much--she was clearly trying to appeal to those unrequited feelings. His weakness. It was cruel even to hint that she may feel the same, especially when she did it to throw him off and get his forgiveness.

 

Still, everything she did, she did for him. It couldn’t have been easy to watch over him for signs that his second lease on life could end at any minute. And she was the one tasked with ending it if it came to it. Yes, he was angry at her deception, but he never considered what it was like for her to carry out Fury’s orders. May was his oldest friend, the person he trusted most in the world. He knew the same was true for her; they had always been close, but after Bahrain their fates were welded together. Even if she didn’t love him, he was important to her. She wouldn’t do this unless she thought she needed to do it. And considering the way he reacted to the truth, he was starting to see that it _was_ necessary to lie to him.  

 

“I am so sorry, May. What I did to you was terrible and mean spirited. You didn’t deserve that for being a friend and watching my back. I should have never pushed you away like I did or said the things I said.” He took a deep breath and lifted the mug to his mouth, doing whatever he could to avoid retching the revolting liquid. Once the last of the concoction had run down his throat, Phil looked at May, sorrow showing clearly in his blue eyes.

 

As their eyes finally met and the concoction began to overwhelm their senses, their emotions bubbled to the surface and started a conversation for which words were not needed. It was the first time they had been this open and vulnerable with each other since their falling out, but now each was ready to understand and forgive. Both of their faces reflected their common fear of losing each other, of ending the friendship that always felt like more than a friendship, of finally giving up on the impossible dream of a future together. This was their only hope to fix what they had.

 

The effects of the alcohol came swiftly and mercilessly. Within minutes, their minds were swimming and their vision blurred. Neither attempted to speak because both felt too raw to say anything, aware that their emotions were clearly on display for the other. So they continued staring at each other uninhibited. Baring their souls and hoping for the best. Sorrow. Regret. Heartache. Forgiveness. Understanding. Love. All danced across their features, communicating more in one look than they could with a thousand words.

 

“No more lies,” Phil said, alcohol and emotions slowing his words.

 

“No more lies,” she agreed. They were turned toward each other with their knees almost touching.

 

“I’m lucky to have you. Without you… I don’t want to lose you.” His eyes bored into hers, brimming with unspoken emotions.  

 

“You’ll always have me. You always have.” He shivered. Her voice betrayed an intensity that he had never seen before.

 

“I will never push you away again, I promise. You are too important to me--the _most_ important.” It was her turn to shiver. His words were starting to tear down the boundaries she set up years ago to keep her love for him hidden, out of reach.

 

They sat in silence, contemplating what to do or say next, but coming up empty. Both were processing everything that was said. Neither wanted to misunderstand the situation, misinterpret the other’s feelings. It was easier to believe that their feelings were unrequited than it was to hope that they may be mutual. Less complicated. They lulled themselves into believing that things hadn’t changed between them.    

 

Later, when the emotional strain of their apology and the effects of the cocktail left them exhausted and unwell, they collapsed forward into each other’s arms. They held on for dear life. It was a strong embrace that anchored one to the other, reminding them that they were still _them_ , the eternal partners and perpetual friends. They hadn’t been this physically close since the months after Bahrain when Phil would hold Melinda through the night, his arms the only barrier against the abyss that threatened to swallow her. Just like then, they now clung to each other, hoping to keep themselves together through their embrace, both afraid they’d break if they let go. So they didn't.

 

When they woke up the next morning, a tangle of limbs and wrinkled clothing on the couch, they knew immediately that their mutual apology worked. The tension was gone. The heartache had subsided. Their trust was resurrected. They also felt their heads spinning, their stomachs complaining, and their eyes throbbing. But that didn’t matter. They didn’t remember the specifics of the night before. They only remembered how it felt to forgive and be forgiven. The world was in order again, they were back to being each other’s safety net. That was all they wanted.

 

Phil and Melinda rose slowly from their awkward position on the couch and smiled weakly at each other. She went to get them both water and aspirins while he retrieved the crackers he had stashed in a drawer before their apology. Sitting side by side in front of his desk and still reeling from their shared hangover, they enjoyed an unconventional meal as best friends once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the wonderful studiocapsicum for her amazing beta work. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! I appreciate hearing from you :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Phil's turn to apologize alone.

Their method was not infallible, there were some apologies that never materialized. Even so, they always moved on together. They were partners. Somehow, they found a way to move past their problems and protect the bond they shared, that precious connection that saved them over and over again, from life and from themselves. Phil had wanted to apologize to Melinda for keeping the Theta Protocol hidden and for meeting with Andrew behind her back, but he never had the chance. When it was clear she wasn’t coming back from her vacation, he resigned himself to having lost her forever; this time no apology would fix things between them. To Phil, getting stabbed through the heart by an entitled Asgardian prince hurt less than having it ripped apart by the person who mattered most to him. She came back, but their bond was not as strong and he didn’t know how to approach her or even begin to apologize. They drifted apart, stopped sharing the occasional drink in his office, no longer ate dinner together after a late night of work, ceased having wordless conversations.

 

But then life dealt them both terrible blows that threatened to break them irreparably. She lost Andrew, he lost Rosalind. They both felt responsible and alone. That’s when they found each other again, no apologies needed. They collided and fell into a closer orbit than before. They were both delighted to find that their bond was not only unbroken but stronger than ever, their proximity the only home they knew. So Phil let himself be lulled by her smiles, her small touches, the warmth he saw in her eyes and before he knew it, he was wading deeper and deeper into the fantasy of their future together. Fully together. Something he never allowed himself contemplate for longer than a second, lest he lose himself in the illusion that she could want him back. For years he pushed the thought away. Impossible. But they seemed to be going down that road, paved by the hopes he secretly harbored for years; he couldn’t have been happier. And that was exactly when he _failed_ her.

 

Had Phil not been so preoccupied with his own feelings, he would have noticed that Melinda was not herself. He _should_ have noticed. What made him think that she wanted him? _Him_? He was supposed to be a spy and he couldn’t even spot an easy ploy like that. She had been touching him more, smiling more at him, spending more time with him; any of those should have clued him in. Instead, he leaned into her touches, returned her smiles, and cherishing their time together. She had often told him he was an idiot, but this was the first time he truly felt like one.

 

That was how Phil found himself in his room, holding his engraved beer mug filled to the brim with a disgusting cocktail, thinking of all the ways in which he had failed her. Including that apology. Because he wasn’t supposed to be drinking when she was out there, still missing and very much in danger. As dark as his darkest thoughts got, never once did he allow himself to think she was dead. There was still time. It had been weeks since the switch, but he drew life from the hope that he would find her, safe and sound. He wanted to be out looking for her, but they had run out of leads and he was getting desperate. The need to atone for his sins overwhelmed him. So, he did the only thing he could think of doing.

 

Phil lifted the cup, took a deep breath, and drank. He drank for her. For everything he had done wrong in the last few years. For failing her when she needed him most. For nurturing his feelings for her. For taking so long to acknowledge them. For loving her too much. For not showing it enough. _She means everything to me._ His desperate thoughts became frantic as a fog thickened over his mind, distorting everything. Heavy with exhaustion from the fruitless search, his body didn’t even try to resist the siren song of the alcohol that was tugging at the corners of his consciousness. _I’ll do this again when she comes back_ , he thought before falling into a fitful sleep.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to studiocapsicum for being an awesome beta! 
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter! Let me know what you think :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, no apologies are necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written shortly after the end of Season 4, when the speculation centered around Phil being alone in space. Obviously by now we know that's not the case. Still, hope you enjoy it!

They couldn’t get one break, not _one._ Phil had gotten Melinda back and after finally, _kind of_ confessing his feelings, he had been immediately dragged off to space. _SPACE!_ All they needed was to take a small step back--mostly so he could get an idea of the real May’s feelings for him--but instead what they got were six months of a forced and painful separation. Light years apart. But, as they often do, things worked out and he was able to go back to Earth. To _her_.

 

Upon seeing the jetlagged Phil exit the portal, Melinda had run to him and hugged him tightly. He held onto to her as if his life depended on this embrace. Their eyes were screwed shut and they didn't say a word to each other; their bodies, relaxing and melting into each other, expressed their shared relief. The rest of the team, although eager to welcome him home, realized that this was a private moment between them and left them alone. Wrapped up in each other, they didn’t even notice the team leave. Eventually, they reluctantly loosened their grip and separated. Without saying a word, Melinda grabbed Phil’s hand and led him to the base’s common area, where they would find the rest of the team waiting for them.

 

She continued to hold his hand during the team’s welcome and through Jemma’s medical evaluation. He treasured the feeling of security that her touch provided him. He craved the contact. When he received medical clearance to sleep in his quarters, Melinda showed him his bunk in the new base. Their rooms were adjacent and connected by a shared bathroom. Phil smiled brightly and wondered if this had been deliberate. He hoped it was.  

 

Melinda ushered him into his room and gave him a quick tour. In the closet he saw some familiar shirts along with a couple of pairs of dark jeans. He raised his eyebrow at her in question and she shrugged, “I figured you’d need clothes, so I bought some of the pieces you used to have. I know your suits were tailored, so you’ll have to buy those yourself.”

 

“Thank you,” he beamed. While it didn’t surprise him that she knew the size and brand of his clothing, it did warm his heart to see that she never lost hope of finding him. Just like he never lost hope of getting back to her.

 

Walking over to a dresser, Melinda pulled a t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a pair of Captain America boxers, and handed them to him. “Shower. It will make you feel better.” As he was about to protest, “I’ll be here when you get out. I’m not letting you out of my sight just yet.”

 

Phil nodded and padded to the bathroom, feeling a little lighter than before. The warm spray of the shower did wonders for his tired and sore muscles, and he found himself smiling while he replayed the last few hours in his mind. _I’m home._ As he put on the clothes Melinda had handed him, he saw his reflection in the mirror and frowned. The salt-pepper stubble that littered his face was too much of a reminder of his time in space, where he could only shave once a week because of time and supply shortages. He found a razor and some shaving cream in the toiletry cabinet--Melinda had again gotten him exactly what he had used before--and began to shave in graceful, practiced movements that brought him a sense of peace. Once his face was smooth, Phil felt like himself again.

 

Exiting the room, his hair still wet and his feet bare, he noticed her sitting on his bed holding a box in her hands and watching him intently. Under the weight of her gaze, he felt himself blush. Melinda stood up and showed him the tan box with blue letters that read “Haig & Haig” and below that in red, “Blended Scots Whisky.” A grin spread over his face and his heart fluttered.

 

“We don’t have to drink this tonight, or even this month, but I wanted you to know that I am ready to open this bottle whenever you are,” she said softly.

 

Their friendship was born the day Melinda drank Garrett’s cocktail in a ballroom full of Academy cadets, and it was strengthened every time they renounced their inhibitions and exposed their vulnerabilities to each other while drinking it in apology. Drinking whisky together, was something else entirely. It awakened and nurtured something that they refused to acknowledge or act upon. Something precious that they both kept safely tucked away in their hearts, almost hidden from themselves. And the bottle of Haig, in particular, took on a meaning that was never clearly defined but that resided at the boundary between their thoughts and feelings, as real as if it had been carved in stone. They instinctively knew that the Haig was the harbinger of a future together, a new beginning.

 

“Let’s open that bottle tonight. I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” he whispered as he reached for the box and took out the bottle from within. His sparkling eyes betrayed just how ready he was to embark on this new journey with her.

 

With a smile, Melinda reached out for the whisky tumblers, which were resting on his bedside table. It took a lot of effort to keep her hands steady as her wildly beating heart threatened to burst out of her chest at any moment. Despite having fantasized about this moment for months, Melinda could not contain her nerves at the prospect of finally crossing that invisible line with Phil. The same Phil who had been in her life for over 30 years. The one she had started loving all those years ago and never stopped.

 

Phil opened the bottle with shaking hands and poured two fingers of the amber liquid into each tumbler. Sitting side by side on his bed, they turned to face each other, barely an arm’s length away. They lifted their glasses and locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity, their barriers coming down completely as they stood ready to cross that line they had drawn in the sand so many years ago.

 

Phil raised his glass toward Melinda, a silent question reflected in his features. _Are you sure?_

 

She answered by lifting her own glass to softly touch his, the quiet sound of their toast like a bell announcing the beginning of a new era. _I’m sure._

 

Maintaining eye contact, they each brought the drink to their lips for a short cautious sip. The whisky slid smoothly down their throats, its quality clearly apparent to both. To Phil, this bottle tasted better than the other one, sweeter than he could have possibly imagined. Noticing the longing in his eyes, which matched her own, Melinda grabbed both of their glasses and set them on the nightstand to her left and turned back to face him. Phil slid closer to her, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips in quick succession. She angled her face up in invitation and he closed the remaining distance between them to gently cover her lips with his own. Time stopped. They both pressed forward to deepen the kiss and she felt his right hand tenderly grab her hair as his robotic one rested lightly on her lower back. Her own hands found his chest and neck, bringing him closer to her.

 

When they reluctantly came up for air, they were both smiling. Phil moved to rest his forehead on hers and took a deep breath. The taste of the Haig on her lips was a painful reminder of the other bottle that he unwittingly shared with the LMD, and a wave of guilt crashed over him almost instantly. “Melinda,” he breathed, “I should apologize for not finding you sooner, for sharing that first bottle of Haig with Robo May, and for being such an idiot and not noticing the switch earlier,” the words just kept coming, tripping over each other and leaving him breathless. “For all that, I’ll probably have to drink enough of Garrett’s concoction to incapacitate eleven men, but I want to do it so we can start anew, without anything hanging over us.”

 

Moved by his words, Melinda just shook her head and whispered, “No. No more apologies. No more dwelling on the past. From now on, we move forward _together_.” As her lips curled in a mischievous smile, she added, “Plus, you can barely hold your alcohol as it is, what makes you think you can drink for eleven?”

 

Phil wiped the smirk off of her face with a kiss and that was the last time they mentioned the concoction or their liquid apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you thought! Thanks to the wonderful studiocapsicum for her beta work and aw-hawkeye-no for her beautiful art :)


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